


be a tough act to follow

by ratherunnecessary



Series: when your eyes meet mine, we show it [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Lots of it, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex, some of it rough-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 03:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherunnecessary/pseuds/ratherunnecessary
Summary: Yuri thinks,Go big or go home,with a bit of delirious determination, and catches Otabek by the wrist. Otabek goes willingly when Yuri pulls him in close, a questioning look on his face.“Nail this quad sal,” Yuri whispers in his ear, “and you can eat me out in the shower.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally 900 words of smut and now it's almost 4k of feelings AND smut. So. I'm incapable of not writing a fuckton of feelings into my sex scenes. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> This takes place between chapters 4 and 5 of [Half a Chance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10503372) but you don't have to have read that to get this. 
> 
> title is from [simple things by miguel](https://youtu.be/vpxbYH22DNY)

It starts like this.

Yuri finally, _finally_ goes back to Almaty just after Four Continents. It turns out that Yakov isn’t impervious to imploring when Yuri’s backed by the considerable power of Yuuri and Viktor, and he’d conceded to letting him train remotely for a few weeks prior to Worlds. Yuri had a good case; he’d been an absolutely faultless skater since returning for nationals, won gold at Euros by the widest margin in history—and he really, really wanted to see his boyfriend.

Otabek is as thrilled as Yuri has ever heard him sound when he calls to tell him, though it’s certainly tempered by his compulsive need to work out specifics. “If we’re both training for competition, we’ll have to make a meal plan schedule and cook on alternating nights. Maybe ask Lina to walk Sez in the mornings since we’ll both be out the door so quickly?” he frets.

Yuri rolls his eyes so hard he think Otabek might hear it over the phone, but he buys his ticket and he’s on his way barely 48 hours after the conversation. Otabek manages to get the day off and they fall back into their pattern immediately, complete with incredible, athletic reunion sex that is so good Yuri wonders how he ever left. 

“Welcome home,” Otabek whispers in his hair late that night, duvet tangled underneath them. Sezim whines outside the door, upset at being shut out of the bedroom.

“We should only do this,” Yuri says back. “I’d give you a medal.” Otabek laughs, and they fall asleep curled around each other. It’s the first night in a very long time where the bed doesn’t feel much too cold and large.

At the rink, Yanna drives him hard. She holds the threat of frequent updates for Yakov over his head incessantly. Any fantasy of spending more time in bed than on the ice evaporates almost immediately.

They’ve never trained side by side, and Yuri starts to feel that familiar sense of sympathy for Viktor as they find a rhythm. It’s mostly good—Otabek shows him a trick for landing his quad flip with better footing on the second day, and it basically changes Yuri’s life. It’s also not so good—they’re both stressed and working harder than ever, and Yuri quickly discovers that where pressure makes Yuri determined (with a nasty edge of anxiety), it makes Otabek quiet. (Well—more quiet than usual, to the point of absolute silence.) Yuri isn’t _worried_ about it, per say—they’re fine, it’s a tough season, Otabek isn’t used to being the man to beat—but he isn’t... not worried about it.

Yuri finally caves at the end of the first week and calls Viktor while Otabek is making dinner. It takes several rabbit trails and multiple false starts for Yuri to actually stammer out what the problem is, and even then Viktor has to read between the lines.

“So you’re not having sex,” Viktor says. The combination of sympathy and amusement in his voice is clear even over the phone.

“That’s not what I _said_ ,” Yuri snarls, blushing furiously. He’s crammed into the little room that used to be the spare bedroom. The bed is gone and it’s been transformed into Otabek’s office, with a nice set of speakers and a deck for mixing. Yuri sits on the swivel chair in the middle and twirls.

“You didn’t say that but that’s what you’re trying to say. Yes?”

Yuri doesn’t respond, which Viktor takes for agreement. He sighs, deeply.

“Look, Yura... This is the unfortunate side effect of being in a relationship with an athlete. When you’re training, you’re either too busy or too exhausted to think about anything other than sleep. It ebbs and flows, like most things. Give it time. And talk to Beka if you’re really worried.”

“I’m not _really worried_.”

“So then don’t talk to him. Try and spice things up on occasion, maybe. But mostly just wait it out. It’ll be better after Worlds, I know it will be.”

Yuri scoffs, but later, after dinner, he has to admit Viktor is probably right. They lay on the couch and watch _Chicago_ , since Otabek has never seen it, and Yuri teaches him how to do a fishtail braid. It’s a very quiet, domestic affair, but a good quiet. Yuri’s pleased to discover he can tell the difference between Otabek’s silences when he pays attention, and this one is warm and affectionate, clear in the gentle way Otabek tugs at his hair and laughs under his breath at the movie. Yuri goes to bed with faith blooming deep in his stomach.

So he’s ready to let it go. Is letting it. Would have completely let it go, were it not for Yanna.

On Monday, after practice, she pulls him aside. “You’re doing very well, Yuri,” she says immediately when he starts to ask questions. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh—of course, anything.”

“I’m going to be very honest with you. Perhaps too honest,” she says with her usual directness. “One of the reasons Otabek had such a great start to his season was because he was much more relaxed off the ice. Specifically why, I couldn’t say, but I’m quite certain the Grand Prix silver had something to do with you.”

Yuri feels himself blushing, badly. He nods, once, and Yanna continues.

“He’s much stiffer these days, too in his head. The recent wins may be psyching him out a bit, especially at Four Continents, but I think there’s more to it.”

Yuri can only nod again.

“You have your own goals to think of, so I’m not asking this of you as a coach, but as someone who cares about Otabek. Get him to relax, when you can, when you’re not here, and I think we’ll all be better for it.”

Yuri is blushing so intensely he feels like he might catch fire. He has to look away, across the rink. He never, ever thought this would be a conversation he’d be having with Otabek’s coach, and the absurdity of it is bubbling up his throat in a hysterical laugh.

“Yuri.” He looks back at Yanna; she’s fixed him with a stern look. “I’m assuming you know what I mean.”

Yuri nods frantically, desperate for the conversation to be over, and, thank God, Yanna seems to as well because she claps him on the back and heads off.

In retrospect, how he goes about it is probably not how Yanna intended him to. Christ, she probably imagined, like, encouraging affirmations and romantic baths and gentle sex and maybe some erotic massage. _Oh my fucking god, I really, really hope she didn’t actually_ imagine _any of that,_ Yuri thinks wildly.

He’s starting to work himself into a state of panic over it (which Yanna also likely _didn’t_ want) so when he finally acts, right when they get back to the apartment, before Otabek has even taken Sezim for a walk, it’s a little abrupt. But that’s also because it’s been a long fucking day and they’re both exhausted and it’s Yuri’s turn to cook and he really doesn’t want to and oh my _god_ why did Yanna even bring this _up_ what in the actual _fuck._

“If you make dinner, I’ll blow you after,” he says.

Otabek barely pauses in snapping Sezim’s leash on. “Interesting,” he says. “I’m feeling takeout.” 

Yuri supposes, as Otabek and Sez leave for the walk, that he shouldn’t be disappointed. Otabek isn’t exactly unused to Yuri springing ridiculous shit on him. All the same, Yuri was hoping for a bit more of a reaction. He busies himself setting the table, determined to actually let it go this time, Yanna be damned.

Except, the first thing Otabek does when he returns from the walk is drop Sezim’s leash, push Yuri against the kitchen wall, and kiss him senseless.

Yuri kisses back immediately, napkins still clutched in his fist, any anxious thought dissolving the moment Otabek touches him. They melt into each other, Otabek’s thumb rubbing along the edge of Yuri’s jaw and Yuri’s fingers curling in Otabek’s hair. Yuri feels warm clean down to his toes.

Otabek pulls away before too long, though, and leans his forehead against Yuri’s. “Dinner’s getting cold,” he whispers. He goes to set out the food. Yuri stays against the wall for a moment, shellshocked. 

Otabek looks over at him. “I got extra baklava,” he says, and holds out his hand. Yuri takes it and goes to him, and Otabek makes him a plate complete with two pieces of the pastry.

The rest of the evening is pleasant—they eat Greek food and watch a stupid movie and Otabek massages the horrible knots out of Yuri’s shoulders (the man has magic fingers) but Yuri figures it would be bad form to blow him now since it was supposed to be contingent on dinner.

However, the next day at practice, he’s so much looser that Yanna raises an eyebrow at Yuri. (So of course, Yuri blushes so hard he thinks he might melt the ice from under his feet.) He leaves the rink with determination lining his skin.

They’re at the grocery store on Saturday when he tries again. Like always, Otabek is refusing to let Yuri buy his favorite double chocolate ice cream, even though it’s on sale. “It’s off your meal plan, Yura,” Otabek says calmly, “and I know you’ll regret it. You know it too.”

“What if,” Yuri says, “I buy it, and eat it off of you. I won’t regret that. Or you could eat it off me. I’m not picky.”

Otabek inhales sharply. He turns away—but his ears are red. The sight thrills through Yuri. He puts the ice cream in the shopping cart and Otabek doesn’t take it out. It goes in the freezer at home and the rest of the night is business as usual, though anticipation makes Yuri so jittery he jumps every time Otabek comes within a few inches of him.

It’s not until they’re in bed with the lights off that something happens. Yuri is just starting to drift off when Otabek suddenly rolls over and presses himself against Yuri from head to toe. Yuri is awake in a heartbeat and electrified the next when Otabek cups his dick with one hand. 

Yuri moans, loud in the quiet of the bedroom, and he can just hear Otabek laugh under his breath, so of course Yuri fumbles around in the dark so he can pull Otabek’s boxers down and pull his cock out as well. The laugh disappears immediately and Otabek caves into him bit by bit as Yuri brings him to full hardness. Otabek's hand drags over the sensitive skin of Yuri's dick, until Yuri pulls his wrist up so he can lick Otabek's palm. It's perfect after that and Yuri can't stop himself from fucking into the circle of Otabek's fingers just a bit. They slowly jerk each other off, not kissing and not talking, panting in the dark. 

It’s amazing how they both pretend they’re in control, so cool and unaffected—right up until the moment they touch one another and fall apart instantly. It would frighten Yuri, how much he wants Otabek— _needs_ Otabek, even—if it were anyone else. But since it is him and not anyone else, Yuri doesn’t give it a second thought when he squeezes Otabek’s arm hard enough to bruise and comes in his hand, groaning into the pillow. Otabek follows him in a moment, turning his face up to Yuri, and Yuri kisses him though it.

He can’t stop thinking about it the next morning (which is as normal of a morning as they’ve ever had). Yuri loves the idea of it, of planting the seed and then having it bloom in front of him suddenly, much later. He loves the shock of seeing that switch flip. Once they’re at the rink, the hard work of training just hones the edge of it.

As it goes, Otabek has a fantastic day except for the fact that he keeps flubbing his quad sal. On another day, Yuri wouldn’t think anything of it, but he’s giddy with the possibility of his newfound power, and when he sees the look on Yanna’s face the third time Otabek falls over on the jump, he thinks, _Go big or go home_ with a bit of delirious determination, and catches Otabek by the wrist. Otabek goes willingly when Yuri pulls him in close, a questioning look on his face. 

“Nail this quad sal,” Yuri whispers in his ear, “and you can eat me out in the shower.”

Otabek freezes, totally thrown, and it takes Yanna yelling at him to get him to move again. He spares Yuri one thunderstruck glance over his shoulder as he skates away.

He nails the quad sal, though.

Yuri waits for him in the locker room after practice, staving off the sparking anticipation by carefully examining his new bruises from when he stupidly caught his skate on the takeoff for a triple flip and had gone sprawling. He has a good one the size of his palm across his right side, and he’s fingering the edges of it when Otabek comes into the locker room, slamming the door shut behind him. He throws the lock and turns on Yuri.

“Take off your clothes.”

Yuri trips over his leggings in his haste to strip them off. He’s already half-hard. It honestly should be embarrassing, the way Otabek can give him one look—especially with that thunderous brow—and Yuri will already be almost ready to go. But it’s so _rare_ that Otabek snaps, so rare that he does anything without immense forethought that Yuri can’t help the extra thrill that runs through him.

Otabek makes short work of undressing and he’s standing in the spray, steam rising around him in curls, when Yuri enters the shower. He holds a hand out and Yuri goes to him.

Otabek pulls him in close, hands sliding down the expanse of Yuri’s back and coming to rest on the curve of his ass. He has his intense face on (the one that Yuri is learning means Yuri is about to get wrecked) and an involuntary shiver of excitement runs through Yuri when Otabek leans up to kiss him.

He stops just short of Yuri’s mouth, warm breath ghosting over Yuri’s lips. “Pull a stunt like that again,” he says in a very quiet, very dangerous voice, “and I’ll make you regret it.” He laces a hand in Yuri’s hair and _pulls_. Yuri’s shameless moan echoes off the blue tiles.

“You’ll make me regret, hm?” Yuri says, because he’s completely incapable of shutting the fuck up even as arousal engulfs him like a surging river, and he _knows_ Otabek likes it when he’s mouthy. “I wonder what that would look like.”

Otabek’s expression is nothing short of incredulous. He runs his fingertips over the forming bruise on Yuri’s ribs, the other hand still tight in Yuri’s hair and then pinches, hard, right in the middle of the mark. Yuri cries out, the sting throbbing through him, and he has to throw a hand against the wall to brace himself. Otabek laughs, low in his throat.

“Bend over,” he says—growls, rather. Yuri obeys, immediately, almost slipping again in his haste. He leans his forearms against the rapidly warming tile and rests his forehead on them. Otabek kneels behind him and Yuri can’t suppress the full-body shiver at the feeling of Otabek’s hands stroking over the swell of his ass cheeks, spreading him open; it only gets worse when Otabek slips a thumb down the cleft and rubs it over his hole.

“Oh _god_ , oh god, please, Beka,” Yuri gasps. The touch goes straight to his dick. He wishes he had something to hold onto but the slick tile is unforgiving.

“Already begging, are you?” Otabek leans forward so his breath ghosts over Yuri’s skin. Yuri wishes he could see how red and plush his mouth must look in the damp heat. “That doesn’t bode well.”

He teases Yuri with that single finger for what feels like eternity, producing lube seemingly out of nowhere (Yuri’s overloaded brain can really only process so much at a time but it's certainly just like Otabek to have lube on him at all times). He’s slow, so slow, curling it delicately and pulling away when Yuri tries to roll his hips back to get _just_ a little more. 

Yuri whines in frustration—he’s so hard he feels dizzy from it—and reaches down to jerk himself off, but Otabek slaps his hand away.

“No touching yourself,” he says, slipping that one index finger back inside Yuri. He strokes it at exactly the right angle and Yuri almost screams.

“Oh my _fucking god_ , I’m going to actually murder you if you don’t get a _fucking_ move on,” Yuri snarls. They’ve played over this edge before, teetering between too much and not enough, but until he’s in the midst of it, at the mercy of Otabek’s hands, Yuri forgets how much of a torment Otabek can be. His stomach muscles, already completely exhausted after the day’s workout, are fluttering from the effort of holding himself still. Otabek presses a hand against Yuri’s spine, arching his body into the one finger, and bites lightly over his glute. Yuri feels his heartbeat thrumming wherever Otabek touches him and tries to control the little cries bursting out of him. 

“You want me to eat you out, hm?” Otabek says with the casualness of someone remarking on the weather.

“I will _kill you_ , I am not _joking_ ,” Yuri says, though the threat is undermined by the shakiness of his voice. He tries to push back again but Otabek stops him with an iron grip on his hipbone. He rubs a thumb in gentle circles on the skin there. Yuri sinks his teeth into his own wrist.

“All right,” Otabek says, and then _finally_ his mouth is on Yuri, hard and relentless, as it always is, and it goes straight through Yuri, as it always does. He gives up on pretending to have any control and lets himself be as vocal as he fucking can be, sobbing into his own arms as Otabek eats him out in earnest. His world narrows down just to Otabek’s wicked tongue and its dips and swirls, and then Otabek reaches forward and circles Yuri’s dick with his spare hand.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my _god, Beka_.” The words tumble out of Yuri and it takes barely two strokes before he’s coming all over Otabek’s palm.

He gives himself a few moments to recover, dropping to his knees, forehead still against the tile, warm water rushing around him. Otabek rubs a hand over his back, and Yuri pushes away from the wall so he can face him.

“Your turn,” he says. “Get up.”

Otabek does so, and Yuri—since he’s not a horrific tease like Otabek—doesn’t waste a second in wrapping his hand around the base of Otabek’s dick and following it with his mouth.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Otabek hisses, sinking a hand into Yuri’s hair, but that’s the only thing he says for the duration, little breathless moans and gasps all that escape from him as Yuri pulls out all the stops, letting Otabek fuck into his mouth the way he likes. Yuri’s come to love that, the way Otabek gets more and more quiet the closer he is to coming. It’s the exact opposite of Yuri—something Otabek teases him about endlessly. “You orgasm from your dick, not your lungs, Yura,” he’d said once after Yuri had put on a particularly loud display.

But now, with Otabek bending over him, a single, “ _Yura_ ,” slipping out, Yuri can’t help but feel a fierce little burst of pride over the intimacy of it. It’s theirs, only theirs, and Yuri understands why Otabek protects it so ferociously, why he touches Yuri with such care and reverence and forethought. Yuri doesn’t think he could give himself over so fully if Otabek didn’t.

Yuri sinks his nails into Otabek’s thighs and looks up at him through his lashes. Otabek meets his gaze but closes his eyes almost immediately, chest heaving as he struggles for control. “I’m close, I’m close,” he gasps. Yuri pulls off.

“Where do you want to come?” he asks, and Otabek groans at the wrecked sound of Yuri’s voice, his hand slipping down from Yuri’s hair to cup his cheek.

“Get up here,” he says, hauling Yuri up with a hand under his shoulder, and Yuri stands. He jerks him, slowly, as Otabek pulls him in, wrapping an arm tightly around Yuri’s neck, nestling his face into Yuri’s throat. Yuri goes with it and speeds up once they’re settled, thumbing over the head of Otabek’s dick. He kisses Otabek, finally, with mostly tongue and teeth, and drinks in Otabek’s barely voiced moan when he comes at last.

They hold each other for awhile, until Yuri has to push his mass of wet hair out of his face. It’s a miracle that they haven’t used up all the hot water yet; Otabek reaches forward and turns off the tap.

“So,” Yuri says, twisting his hair up in a bun and heading for the locker room, “that’s supposed to make me regret something?”

Otabek’s brow knits together as he follows. Yuri pulls his hair down so he can dry it off, and when he emerges from the towel, Otabek is looking at him, his expression full of trepidation. “I just made things worse, didn’t I?” 

“Very much so,” Yuri says smoothly. He grabs his street clothes out of his locker. “You should know by now I’m incapable of shame.”

Resignation and horror war on Otabek’s face. “Oh my god,” he says. “Oh my god, I’ve created a monster.”

“You have,” Yuri agrees. He does a quick braid, wraps it around his head, and pins it. He tosses his towel into the laundry bin, and faces Otabek, satisfied. “This will either end very poorly, or very well.”

Otabek sits on one of the benches and covers his face with his hands. He’s still just in his towel. “Holy shit, I can’t believe this happened right before Worlds.”

Yuri sits beside Otabek and rests his head on his shoulder. “I’m excited, too,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> in my 'verse, Otabek wins gold at Worlds and Yuri wins silver. ;)
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/jstanxietythngs)


End file.
